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Subject: REPOST: Time Of Possession, 12/? - Wife D/s
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(NOTE: I have been told there is some trouble with all chapters of
this story appearing on all newsgroup servers. The entire story so far
can be found acrhived at:
http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/jun.html
Other of my works can be found at:
http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/jon_thompson_3/adult01.htm
Thank you)


Time Of Possession
part twelve
by MarArch

Debra lay, curled, on the bed, the covers drawn up to her neck over
her nude body, eyes open, staring blankly into the gloom. The only
sound was the slow, even rush of her breathing, the only motion the
gentle rise and fall of the soft blankets.

What had she done, she vaguely wondered in some distant corner of her
mind. What had become of her. She allowed her mind to drift down over
her flesh, sensing it, feeling it, studying it with a kind of
detatchment. She ached, her nipples gently throbbing in time to the
slow, steady beating of her heart, echoed by the slight pulse in her
still swollen clit. Her backside felt as if it was glowing with the
warmth of the punishment it had endured during the afternoon party...
it was a party, wasn't it? But parties were times when you talked to
people and smiled with them and laughed and shared... something. So
was it really a party? Or was it just more of the same... more of her
body being set on fire by those deep, inner lusts, used and driven
beyond screaming, beyond cumming, beyond.... herself.

She felt infinitely tired but somehow sleep was ignoring her, had
turned its back on her, was punishing her with its absence. Time
seemed to be sitting beside the bed, staring at her, studying her,
tormenting her with its lack of motion. But she didn't care anymore.
She could lie there in the dark forever for all the difference it
made. Lie there, unmoving until she aged, her skin drying, bones
turning brittle. Or the sun could rise and he could come and take her
and use her again, make her body betray her once more with the
shuddering fire that possessed her and banished her mind and soul. It
didn't matter any more. Nothing mattered.

She was empty. More empty than she could comprehend. She had become
what, in her dark, secret fantasies, had always been the sweet, hot,
shadowy fountain of warm, wet passion that had tickled her childhood
throbbings. But it wasn't like that at all. Not for her. She was a
thing. An object. A machine that was fueled by a full, deeply stroked
pussy and pinched, aching nipples and a filled ass and the thousand
other stimulations that summoned up her lust and made her spew her
soul and her heart and her cum out for him to savor and feed on.
That... and nothing else.

She wanted to shift herself, move her arms, draw them up and wrap
herself in them, feel the warm, gentle grip of them around her,
holding her in the still, dark quiet. But she didn't move. It was
pointless. She would have found no comfort in her own arms. Nor in
his. For they were just arms, his and hers. They carried with them
nothing but lust and when the lust was spent, ripped or driven or
milked from her they were nothing but arms.

Why can't I cry, she wondered. Why can I do nothing but respond,
moisten, tingle, shudder, swell and climax. I used to cry, she
remembered. I used to laugh and smile and sigh with something other
than a quiver of heat and clenching deep inside my pussy. So why can't
I cry now? Cry for what I've lost... what I've gained... what I've
become...

She lay, staring at the shadows along the wall, and waited. Waited for
him to come to her, to spread her, to bind her, to gag her, to clamp
her, to fill her, to touch her and rouse her and drive her and make
her scream and sob and cum.  That was her purpose now. That was the
function she served. And she was good, oh yes, she was very good... as
if made just for that. Lovely, and hot and wet and responsive and
perfect.... and empty....


He stared across the room at the bed where she lay, leaning on the
open doorframe, arms crossed, unmoving, studying her aross the
distance. She had been so perfect, he mused silently. So anxious, so
needing, so splendid. Perfect for him, for his needs. She met his
every imagination with a bursting that bathed him in her surrender and
her endurance and her gift of herself to him. Of all of them, this one
was beyond measure, priceless.

And tomorrow, after he'd rested, after she'd rested, he would work her
again... drive her, feed her even as she fed him with the blistering
heat of her wantonness... practice new pleasures on her. And she would
scream and weep and moan and shudder and cum for him. And he would
feel her cumming and drink it in and be warmed for a little while. And
it still wouldn't matter, would it. It wouldn't matter a damn. Because
it never did.

The sigh he expelled was a soundless growl as he straightened,
reached, slowly pulled the door closed behind him and went to his own
rest. Another function to be performed. Another requirement of the
flesh. Meaningless....


Ralph's arm was killing him. It had fallen asleep about the time
Melissa had rolled around and pressed her warm, smooth, shapely ass
against his hip. But Donna hadn't moved, not since they all tumbled
into the bed and wiggled tightly against each other like puppies in a
basket. She stayed curled up against him, her hand thrown over his
chest, her head bearing down on his arm, definitely cutting off the
blood he thought. He tried to wiggle his fingers but they failed to
respond, instead sending a sharp, tickling tingles down the groggy
nerves into his brain. Despite himself he began to laugh, silently,
his chest spasming.

"What" Donna said, groggily.

"I'm sorry" he hissed through the sharp clutches of his chest at the
sensation that roared from his deadened fingertips "I have got to move
my arm."

She grunted and lifted her head, allowing him to slowly pull it free
and swing it, wobbly, upwards, then dropping it between them.

"Thank you" he said, bracing for the slow flood of pins and needles
that would soon cascade up from it.

"'sokay, baby" she muttered and lay her head back down with a heavy
flop on the pillow.

The silence flooded over them again and Ralph closed his eyes,
actually savoring the sensation that welled up from his arm as the
nerves awakened.

"So" Donna said quietly, her voice now more alert "what do you think
of my little pet."

"Melissa? She's wonderful."

"Isn't she just" Donna sighed contentedly.

"And so are you" he said quietly.

She reached out to stroke his cheek with a fingertip.

"You're a very special man, Ralph. You know that? Your wife is lucky
to have you. She really is."

He grunted, an uncertain sound in the darkness of the room.

"She is" Donna repeated quietly.

"If she even wants me at all" he said, gloom in his tone.

Donna sighed quietly. "Oh Sir..."

The sound of their breathing filled the room for a long moment.

"Sir?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"Of course."

A pause.

"Would you please make love to me. Not work me, or play with me or try
to drive me half out of my mind which you can do, by the way. Just
make love to me. No one has for a very long time. No man..."

Ralphs lips parted, about to speak through his growing smile, about to
ask what the difference could possibly be... but the words died
unformed... because he knew the difference. Knew it now as surely as
he knew the feel of cool breezes tickling his neck or warm sun on his
face. And he realized, at that moment, that he was, for the first time
since he had met Debra, about to be unfaithful to her... and that she
never had been to him.

He rolled gently over, facing Donna, feeling Melissas bottom now
pressed warmly against his own, gently sliding a hand over Donnas
naked flesh, feeling the smoothness of her stomach, the curves of her,
the softness of her, the rounded hip, the well of her breast, the
growing tightness of the nipple as it gathered beneath his gently
stroking palm. Leaning down his lips found hers, sliding together with
them in a perfect fit, moist and soft yet firm and with a growing
eagerness. Her arms slipping around his neck, pulling him against her.
His cock stirring, swelling, reaching for her in its own way. His hand
touching her, so gently, exploring her, wondering at her, the gift of
her... sliding down between her spreading thighs to find her already
wet and waiting. Lifting his body above her, nestling, their hips
slipping close, his cock dragging over her stomach, feeling the moist
lips of her pussy part as its length drew along them. Then the head of
it against her, pausing, prayerful and reverent, her arms giving a
gentle tug to his neck, urging him, pleading with him. Slowly pressing
down, feeling her body open to accept him, cover and comfort him,
welcome and cherish him, down into her depths.

She sighed as if in some lost dream, feeling him filling her, gently,
lovingly, their bodies joined, not in lust but in adoration and equal
affection. And even as he began to withdraw, easing reluctantly from
her, he could hear himself whispering..

"I love my wife."

"I know" she whispered back, her voice choked, even as she pulled him
back inside her, their rhythm slow and gentle, like the rocking of a
hammock on a lazy, perfect, still day. They rode the slow swelling
together, feeling the birth of the pleasure somewhere between them,
never racing, never quickening, savoring every instant of the joining.
And it was perfect, and gentle and not to be rushed, the slow,
flickering warmth their bodies conjoured up. It was peace and love and
contentment made flesh and made of flesh.

Ralph could feel his cock begin to swell inside her, unfrenzied, and
Donna pulled him down onto her and welcomed his deepest plunge to her
very center where he pressed and blossomed and gave his moisture into
her, and felt her answer with a clutch, a shiver and her own warm
wetness bathing him deep inside her.

They lay still, holding one another, drinking in the moment of the
joining even as they slipped down from the summit of it, his sigh
answered by hers in a wordless understanding.

At last he lifted his head and something pulled at his attention. He
turned, his expression puzzled, to see Melissa, now on her side,
facing them, her cheek propped up on her fist, a wry smile on her
lips, eyes fixed on them. Donna noticed his look and followed it.

In the darkness they blushed, as if discovered.

"That" Melissa said, quietly, languidly, her voice amused "was the
dirtiest thing I have ever seen."

Three voices flooded the darkness with a burst of warm laughter.



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